


Carmilla: The Untold Stories

by GettingGreyer



Category: Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Fluff, POV First Person, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettingGreyer/pseuds/GettingGreyer
Summary: “I have often placed my hands under it, and laughed with wonder at its weight. It was exquisitely fine and soft, and in color a rich very dark brown, with something of gold. I loved to let it down, tumbling with its own weight, as, in her room, she lay back in her chair talking in her sweet low voice, I used to fold and braid it and spread it out and play with it. Heavens! If I had but known all!” —Carmilla, Section IV
Relationships: Carmilla/Laura (Carmilla)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Carmilla: The Untold Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have often placed my hands under it, and laughed with wonder at its weight. It was exquisitely fine and soft, and in color a rich very dark brown, with something of gold. I loved to let it down, tumbling with its own weight, as, in her room, she lay back in her chair talking in her sweet low voice, I used to fold and braid it and spread it out and play with it. Heavens! If I had but known all!” — _Carmilla_ , Section IV

I was quite eager to become closer to my new companion—the young woman who had haunted my dreams so many years prior ago; she intrigued me, enraptured me, with her slender physique and captivating grace. I had not met many girls of my own age, trapped as I was in my isolated schloss, and, at times, I felt woefully inadequate next to Carmilla for she was the very image of refined beauty and womanly charm while I was still but a young girl next to her graceful maturity.

That is not to imply that I was too envious of her, though I must admit at times I was, but it is to simply state that Carmilla always carried with her a different air than to myself and the other young ladies of our age. She was a woman who had seen much of the world, if her vague and ambiguous statements of past adventures were anything to go by, and that experience was obvious in the way she carried herself. She was charming and witty in a way that enthralled everyone around her, including myself, and she was serious and mellow whereas I was still idyllic and, perhaps, overly enthusiastic.

Carmilla was unlike any other lady I had ever met, as few as the number was, and I was drawn to her in a way that I could not quite describe. I lacked a mother in my youth and it was Madame Perrodon who taught me all there was to know about how to be a woman of refinement, but I had never quite understood what that refinement looked like until I saw it upon Carmilla. Perhaps that was what first drew my eyes to her in a way that could not only be attributed to be desire for a friend, a companion in my lonely life.

Because there was something about Carmilla that felt different from all the other visiting ladies who had ever traveled to my schloss.

Her body was slender well-proportioned and, while I did not examine her too closely, her curves were appropriately feminine, and her breasts seemed to be perfectly sculpted beneath the gowns of her dress. Her eyes were dark and lustrous; they seemed to shine brightly in the dark and they were so perfectly expressive. When she smiled it was as if her eyes were glowing with her own mirth yet when she was in a foul mood they would darken to such extreme depths as if they were chasms carrying something much more sinister than her appearance suggested. And her hair …

_Oh, her hair!_

It was beautiful! Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in a way that framed her elegant features delectably and its warm colors accented her rich complexion. I had never seen such hair as hers; its coloring was dark brown, but it carried flecks of gold that shimmered in the light of the sun. I had wanted to touch her hair so very much since the moment I had first seen it in the light of day and Carmilla, as observant as she was, had noticed my uncouth staring.

“I have to wonder if there is something wrong with my dress.” Carmilla spoke, her voice rich and deep. “For you seem to be gazing so intently upon me.”

My face flushed as I realized I had been caught. I attempted to shy my eyes away from Carmilla’s penetrating gaze, but I was caught by her stare. Her eyes were so warm, and she looked at me with such fondness and affection that it made my heart flutter. She had only arrived a couple nights ago, but already Carmilla felt like a dear friend; she gazed at me in such a way that I wondered what I must look like in her eyes—for her to look at me with such reverie.

Did I look at her the same way? I hoped not, but I believe I must have because Carmilla smiled at me and I smiled at her.

“I was simply admiring your hair; it’s so very beautiful and it looks so soft and fine that I find myself wondering what it must feel like. I don’t suppose I could trouble you to touch it?”

“I would gladly welcome it, darling.”

I was eager now that I had received her consent and motioned for Carmilla to join me on the ottoman. She sat down, her back to me, giving me full access to her splendid voluminous locks. I started slowly at first, my fingers gently stroking through the strands as I allowed the soft and fine texture of it to spread across my fingers. I closed my eyes and sighed as I allowed my fingers to comb through her long, flowing hair. The sensation of it against my skin was soothing; I never wanted to stop touching her hair and petting it with abandon, but eventually I relented in that task. I opened my eyes as my hands drifted to the lower length of her hair and I marveled at the finery of it. It felt so heavy to the touch and I attempted to lift it. I laughed in amazement at its weight; it felt so much heavier than my own.

“How jealous I am of your maid for she is able to touch your hair often!”

Carmilla laughed at my exclamation; it was a beautiful sound and it flowed through the air like a harmonious melody and settled deeply inside my heart, causing a strange, but not entirely unpleasant, stirring within.

“Does my hair really please you, so?”

“Yes; your hair is so marvelously beautiful, Carmilla. It’s so soft, fine, and lustrous—every woman should be envious of your gift.”

“And me? Do I please you as well?”

Carmilla turned around, her face was so close to mine with it only being mere inches away, and she stared into my eyes—her own eyes were burning, burning bright with passion and ferocity. It startled me—terrified me; but despite my fear, or perhaps because of it, I felt equally entranced. The look in Carmilla’s eyes was intoxicating, but I did not know why—not yet.

“Of course, you have become a dear friend to me, Carmilla.” I spoke, my voice shaking with an emotion I would only later identify. “Ever since you have arrived my life has become less lonesome and the days have been so much brighter with you to accompany me.”

Carmilla smiled sweetly at that and her hand reached out to touch mine. Her fingers wrapped around my palm and it thrilled me. My hand and body froze in place as a foreign sensation wrapped around them; it was unnerving, but pleasant. Yet it still scared me.

I did not want Carmilla to look upon me in this moment; her eyes, still so bright and intense, bore into every part of me. There was a glint in her gaze that was almost feral; I found it most alluring and paradoxically frightening and it was that fear that broke me through the reverie.

“May I braid your hair?”

It felt as if I shattered something with those words. Carmilla’s eyes shifted for a moment, before returning to its usual playful glint. She nodded her head and began to turn back, but before she did, I felt her eyes peer over the length of my body in a way that was most unsuitably not lady-like. I shivered though it was not cold.

“Do you have a preference? For your hair?”

“I trust you, my darling. Do whatever you think is right and on your own time.” As she spoke those words it seemed as if she was telling me something else, but whatever it was, the meaning was lost upon my ears.

I began my work quickly, parting Carmilla’s hair at the front before tying her hair in the back into a low ponytail. The silkiness of her hair spread through my fingers as I worked and the silence within the room became palpable.

“Carmilla?” She lightly hummed in response and when I peered at her face, I saw that her eyes were closed as if she was in pure bliss. “Where do you hail from, if I may be so imprudent to ask?”

Her eyes opened for a moment, but a second later she sighed and closed them again. “You may ask,” she spoke, “but I am afraid that I am unable to answer.”

I had expected as much of a response. My father had recounted his conversation with Carmilla’s mother and apparently the girl was sworn to secrecy about her origins and destination. I should have accepted that—it would be rude to push further, but I wanted to know. Carmilla caught my curiosity and my interest refused to let go.

“Father said that your mother spoke French.” I did not ask, but I did not need to and Carmilla sighed again. I began to feel a little guilty for my probing and stayed silent after Carmilla’s lack of response; it was wrong of me, after all, to insist with questions when I knew she was forbidden to answer. Instead, I focused on her hair, which did not resist me as I weaved the locks together.

It had been some time since I had last played with another’s hair and groomed it in such a way; it had been longer still since a woman who was my peer visited me. I always enjoyed the task of lacing strands together. It was simple, but refined, and the action felt intimate between friends. My mother died before she was able to be blessed with another child, but I had always wondered what it would have been like if I had been gifted with a sister; I imagined that this is what it would feel like. The casual intimacy and affection that was promised between sisters—it felt like that was something that I could have with Carmilla. It was as this thought struck me that Carmilla began to giggle quite uncontrollable.

I paused: “Is something humorous?”

“No,” Carmilla suppressed another laugh. “I am quite sensitive at the nape of my neck and it tickled me so when your fingers brushed past it.” Embarrassed, I was quick to apologize, but Carmilla waved off my words and said: “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling. You are quite skilled with your fingers and I can tell you are performing marvelously. I’m excited to be finished.”

She spoke again as if she was saying two things at once, but I supposed that was part of the mystery of Carmilla. And after thanking her for the complement, I continued to thread her hair together. I was nearly complete in my task, and I tucked and pinned the braids up against her head. I told Carmilla and she quickly stood and walked to the mirror in the corner of the room. She hummed appreciatively and turned around to look at me: “Thank you; it looks wonderful.”

I was stunned in that moment. It was I who had spent the past few minutes tying her hair together, but I never could have imagined what Carmilla would look like—or its affect on me. Her long hair was tied up and it highlighted features of hers that I had yet to notice. Her neck had a small beauty mark, her ears protruded slightly, and the sight of all the creamy barren skin, her dress barely covering her shoulders, was an unusual sight. Carmilla was beautiful; indescribably and impossibly beautiful.

The light of the moon shined through the windows and seemed the accentuate that fact by covering her features in a pale glow. I wanted that moment to be trapped in time forever; it was a moment that should have been painted so that it might never be forgotten, but it passed. The light faded as clouds moved in front of the moon, but while the moment was gone, Carmilla was still standing in front of me: waiting for my response.

“I am so envious of your beauty. I could never compare to it.” I told her how I felt, but the words couldn’t capture the depth of the stirring emotions within me.

“I find you beautiful as well, so we shan’t compare.”

I shook my head, refusing the compliment. “I am afraid I cannot accept that; your beauty is too much to bear. Your hair is—”

Carmilla sauntered forward, her finger pressing against my lips and I went silent. She smiled, her hand moved to cup my cheek and as her thumb stroked she said: “You are beautiful, darling, especially your lips which I have dreamed of since I was small.”

I said nothing in response, her words barely registering in my mind for what they could have meant, but I did not need to. She did not wait for a response and Carmilla apprised me of the time before soon departing for bed. Eventually I walked to my own room for rest and my dreams that night were most unusual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me while writing this fic: Is this too gay? They've only just met each other. *remembers the novella* Yeah, no, they're canonically the right amount of gay.
> 
> I absolute love _Carmilla_ and I recently reread it and became re-obsessed so I decided to write a fanfic. I'm planning this to be a series of mostly standalone serial chapters that are going to follow along with the original story, with some notable differences. The beginning is planned to be mostly fluff, but later chapters will have bits of plot and even some angst—that's if I ever get that far since I have a tendency to ... uuuuh ... not complete fics.
> 
> Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this. I don't usually write in first-person so it was a different experience for me, but surprisingly not as difficult as I thought it would be. Though, when I edited the fic I saw that I slipped into third-person sometimes, so hopefully, I've corrected all those errors but let me know if you see any. It was also strange to try to mimic the Le Fanu's style which I'm not sure that I've done, but hopefully it isn't too jarringly different from Laura's voice in the novella. I mostly just tried to use many semicolons lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Me while writing this fic: Is this too gay? They've only just met each other. *remembers the novella* Yeah, no, they're canonically the right amount of gay.
> 
> I absolute love _Carmilla_ and I recently reread it and became re-obsessed so I decided to write a fanfic. I'm planning this to be a series of mostly standalone serial chapters that are going to follow along with the original story, with some notable differences. The beginning is planned to be mostly fluff, but later chapters will have bits of plot and even some angst—that's if I ever get that far since I have a tendency to ... uuuuh ... not complete fics.
> 
> Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this. I don't usually write in first-person so it was a different experience for me, but surprisingly not as difficult as I thought it would be. Though, when I edited the fic I saw that I slipped into third-person sometimes, so hopefully, I've corrected all those errors but let me know if you see any. It was also strange to try to mimic the Le Fanu's style which I'm not sure that I've done, but hopefully it isn't too jarringly different from Laura's voice in the novella. I mostly just tried to use many semicolons lol.


End file.
